


Willful Sins

by Destina



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-31
Updated: 2007-01-31
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4200882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared is smiling now, a happy kind of smile, like a shark might smile right before he catches his dinner in his big, sharp, sexy teeth. "C'mon, Jensen," he says. "Let's play a game."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Willful Sins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estrella30](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/gifts).



> Aww, my very first J2 story. Written in January 2007 and posted to AO3 in June 2015. Thanks to audrarose and Bone for beta.

It doesn't happen until the end of shooting for season one, and even then, Jensen isn't quite sure how he worked up the nerve, how a thing like this is even possible. He and Jared are friends, they are _friends_ , damn it. Jared has a girlfriend, one that's really nice, and Jensen's not supposed to find it hot when Jared puts his hands on him. Friendly touches, right? On his back, his shoulders, his chest, his face. Everywhere. 

Jensen touches back, and that's the worst sin of all, because he loves the feel of Jared's body beneath his hands, and he wonders - just a little bit, just sometimes - if that's why Jared does it, too. 

It's making him crazy, so he spends a couple weekends drinking those thoughts into the back of his mind, and he doesn't jerk off while he does it, oh, hell no. That was an accident. He didn't mean to think about the way Jared likes to curve his hands over parts of Jensen's body - small of back, top of head - and he didn't mean to apply that fantasy touch to his dick, certainly not while he had his face pressed into the cool tiles of the shower wall and his fist around his cock. Certainly not while he was coming into the soft, warm water with a helpless moan. 

_Accident_ , for Christ's sake. He can't help it where his brain goes. 

So when it happens - when everything goes sideways - he should have seen it coming. He tells himself that, after. What else is he supposed to tell himself about breaking open a bottle of tequila with Jared on a cold, late night with no girls in sight? 

He leaves out the part where they're mostly sober, 'cause it's easier to pretend they were drunk. 

Jared's rolling around on the floor, laughing his ass off at something Jensen said about this girl he met on the set of Devour, the way she always had lint sticking to her skin from these sweaters she wore, and it makes Jensen grin, too. "Damn, man, is there anybody you've worked with you haven't seen naked?" Jared sits up and sets the bottle on the coffee table, scoots it over to Jensen. 

"Maybe a few," Jensen answers, grinning, and swallows down a nice swig of the stuff. It's the good shit, not the cheap stuff, although he doesn't care about that and neither does Jared. This is the bottle Kripke gave him for his birthday, and it's been going to waste for way too long. 

"You run an active campaign to get them all naked, don't you?" Jared's still snickering, and Jensen regrets ever telling him he keeps a tally of the girls he's screwed, because he was mostly kidding but kinda not, and Jared never lets him forget it. "Don't lie to me, man. I know. More notches for your bedpost." 

"You don't know shit, drunken monkey." Jensen takes a swallow of tequila, then lurches up off the couch and veers toward Jared's kitchen. "Where's the fucking beer?"

"In the fucking fridge, sex god." 

Sex god. Right. Jensen opens the fridge and gets two beers, pops the caps, and carries them back to the living room. Jared sits up to take his and then he looks at Jensen, hard, like Jensen's mutated into something new and unusual while he was gone those ten seconds. 

"You've never seen me naked," Jared informs him, eyes twinkling but narrowed down in a calculating way that scares the crap out of Jensen. 

"Uh," Jensen says, but that's as far as he gets, on account of how terror is creeping over him. What's he supposed to say that isn't going to fuck this up completely? Frantically, he runs through all the possible responses. _Who wants to see your ass naked?_ Bad plan, tossing ass and naked in the same sentence, 'cause the thought of Jared's naked ass is making Jensen a little hard, and you know, that's a _really_ bad plan. _I don't go for drunken assholes_ \- also bad. That might make Jared get all curious about the well-kept and unresolved secret he does not need to be sharing with Mr. Sunshine. _Thanks, I'll pass...not interested..._

...yeah, that one would be a straight-up lie. 

While he's flailing around for some kind of response that won't make him feel like he's spilled his bloody guts out on Jared's carpet, Jared gets up on his knees and scratches at his neck. "Kinda quiet there, Jensen," he says, tone entirely different than it was a minute before. Lower. Deeper. 

Jensen's breath catches in his throat. 

"Yeah," Jared says, nodding, as if Jensen had answered his question with words, which, what the fuck? There was no question. There is no answer. Only, maybe there was. 

Suddenly, things seem really complicated. 

Jensen puts a hand over his face, rubbing hard, like he can maybe push back time about ten minutes if he thinks about it hard enough, but Jared is smiling now, a happy kind of smile, like a shark might smile right before he catches his dinner in his big, sharp, sexy teeth. "C'mon, Jensen," he says. "Let's play a game."

"What'd you have in mind?" Jensen asks, and wow, his voice has lost an octave somewhere. 

"I'm'a take my clothes off. And you're going to see me naked." Jared's already finding tiny buttons with his big hands and sliding them through buttonholes. "I strip, you stare." 

"It's a one sided game," Jensen says helplessly, hands planted flat on the couch. He's sweating, and he thinks his left eyelid might be twitching, and his mouth is dry, and he knows damn well this isn't any kind of game, not the kind with rules that he can figure out. But there's skin materializing beneath the wacky pink of Jared's shirt as it slides aside, and that's it, that's all she wrote. The switch in his brain goes over from panic to _play._

"Feel free to join in at any time," Jared says, tilting his head to one side, and Jensen shivers, because Jared looking at him naked...Jesus, there's no _air_ in the room. His imagination tries to jump ahead to _naked together_ and shorts out on the spot. Typical. Jared's still talking, though. "There's only one rule: Each time I drop a piece of clothing, you take a drink. Not some pussy shot, either."

"You're on," Jensen says, leaning forward on the couch. He smiles, slow. "How long do I get to stare?" 

"As long as you can handle it, before you puss out," Jared says, now on the fourth button. 

Jensen does a quick calculation: shirt, jeans, underwear. That's only three items. And he has just one shirt, and jeans. Well, that'll make things interesting. "How do we know who wins?" he asks, still kind of unclear on that whole rules thing. 

"Control freak. The rules are so not the point." Jared shakes his head. The last button of his shirt is all that's left, and the shirt is gaping open now, forming a V over Jared's broad chest, pointing down through his abs - wow, his abs. Jensen licks his lips; last time he saw this much of Jared's chest, it was routine, another day on the job. Back then, his heart wasn't skipping beats, and his dick wasn't quite so interested. Jared tweaks the last button, then slides a hand inside his shirt, palm flat against his skin. He moves his hand up, over his left nipple, and shoves the left side of the shirt away. 

"You'll know who wins," he adds, running that hand back down, over his abs, hooking his thumb into the waistband of his jeans. "It'll be obvious." 

It occurs to Jensen that when he gets to the bare-ass naked part of the evening, his hard-on is going to be a lot harder to hide, and he can feel the blush start down somewhere near his neck and creep up. And what the hell, anyway? He's about ten years too late for blushing virgin. But it doesn't matter, because Jared's doing this thing with his shoulders, and his shirt slides right off and over and hits the floor in a silent puddle of tacky pink polyester, and Jared sits back on one knee. 

Jensen licks his oh-so-very-dry lips. His tongue flickers out and touches the lip of the bottle right before he upends his beer and polishes it off, and Jared makes some kind of sound, halfway between an exhale and a grunt. Jensen tilts his head down, drops the empty bottle on the carpet, and his gaze settles on Jared. 

It's weird, having permission to stare, but it's so good. Jared's skin is smooth, and Jensen has touched him enough to know pretty much how it'd feel under his own. His gaze travels down, catches on Jared's nipples; they're hard, and Jensen has a flash of Jared's hand sliding over them. Jesus. He takes a deep breath, lets his gaze travel lower, over Jared's hard stomach, and then Jared says: "You've got that staring part down, man." 

Guilt makes Jensen's gaze snap up to Jared's face, where he finds a triumphant grin. "Dude, you're way too easy - you let me break your concentration with that? Come on." 

"Whatever," Jensen says, eyes narrowed. 

Jared points to him. "You going to take a turn, or what?"

"I'm on it," Jensen answers. He sits forward on the couch, then changes his mind and leans back, legs splayed open. Because it's comfortable, he tells himself, ignoring the fact that his cock is trying to spring its way out of his too-tight jeans. He doesn't have buttons to play with like Jared did, so there's no prolonged torture there. But he does know how to put on a show. 

One hand sneaks under the hem of his blue T-shirt, and he rubs it across his belly. His skin feels like it's on fire, mostly because Jared's staring at that strip of exposed skin just above his belt, and he nudges the t-shirt up a little more. He drops his hand lower, ghosting it across his erection, watching Jared's eyes, which go darker at the sight of it. Then he catches the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it up, knuckles skimming his chest as he goes. Hands crossed, he lifts it slowly over his head, then drops it on the floor next to the bottle. His necklace, tiny cool beads against his skin, hits his chest and settles there. 

Jared's making a different sound, now, one that is distinctly sexy and full of promise, the kind of sound Jensen has not ever really heard from a guy until now, and there's a part of him that can't believe he's hearing it from Jared. The images that sound raises in his mind's eye knock the wind out of him, but he stretches a little, lets his hand come to rest on his stomach, curling his fingers under, then out. Under, then out. 

Jared's not looking at his face. He's swaying forward, and he's watching the rise and fall of Jensen's...no, that's not it. He's looking lower. At Jensen's dick. 

"Below the belt, Padalecki," he says, in a voice way too rough for teasing. He's doing his best, but Jared shifts just then and his stomach flexes, and Jensen sort of pushes his hips forward, scooting lower on the couch. Jared tips his head back, breaking the stare, and reaches out a hand for the tequila. 

Which Jensen is pretty sure would taste delicious if it were, say, licked off Jared's skin. Or out of his belly button. Or anywhere else on Jared. 

If he gets any harder, he'll come without so much as a hand on him, and that's pitiful. He looks at the line of Jared's throat as he drinks, closes his eyes and centers himself. _Get a grip._

When he opens his eyes, Jared is pushing the coffee table out of the way, and Jensen holds his breath - but Jared's just looking for room. He sprawls backward with surprising grace and lets his legs fall to the sides. Up on his elbows, he goes to work on the buttons of his fly, which makes Jensen's throat tighten. "Jesus," he murmurs, ten different kinds of blasphemy at work in that simple curse word, and watches as black underwear appears, as Jared shoves the jeans down and off and away, and lets Jensen look. 

A grin twists the corner of Jensen's mouth, spreading across his face. The tequila is over by Jared, and there's only one way to get it. 

When he stands up, he has to take a second to rearrange, and Jared's eyes track his movements, the press of his hand into his dick. He closes the distance, but not too close; he's after the bottle, but it's like Jared's body is made of heat, and he's drawn right into it, melting if he comes too close. He scoops up the bottle, takes a long drink, fixated a little on the hard line of Jared's dick against the silk, the wet patch where the head of his cock is nestled. Then he sets the bottle down on the floor and pops the buttons of his own fly. 

He tries to draw it out a little, but his hands are shaking with want. So much for the sex god, he's afraid to look at Jared's face. He pushes the jeans down so they're low on his hips, and when he looks down, Jared rises up from the floor, crowds into his space, catches Jensen's face in his hands, and whispers, "Yeah, okay, you win," and kisses him. 

Not an ordinary kiss, though. Jensen's lips part to let Jared in, and Jared takes his time. Slow, sweet kisses, over and around Jensen's mouth, first his upper lip, and then the lower, lingering there, and he loops an arm around Jensen's body and pulls, and Jensen goes. There was never a question he was going to; it was just a matter of when. He licks the taste of tequila from Jared's mouth, feels the smile curving against his lips in response, and then Jared's hands sneak to the rise of Jensen's hips, slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans. 

Later, Jensen would like to be able to say he was rational about it, that he stopped and forced a discussion about girlfriends and best friends and how sex fucks everything up -- but right about the time Jared pulls his own cock out of his briefs and shoves Jensen's jeans down and brings their dicks together in his big hand, Jensen forgets everything but the words 'jesus' and 'fuck' and 'Jared', which Jared promptly kisses right out of his mouth anyway. Then there are only gasps and low growling moans, drawn out when Jared twists his hand just right. 

Those slow, deep kisses and those hard, insistent strokes of Jared's hand have Jensen focused only on the burn of pleasure, and he tries to warn Jared, but Jared's arm is still tight around him and he bends Jensen back, forcing his head to fall back, and just then Jared's teeth find a vulnerable spot just below Jensen's ear. He cries out and comes, Jared's _shhhh_ and _fuck, Jensen_ and _come on, yeah, just like that_ all blending together in a blur of intense joy. 

It takes him a couple seconds to realize that Jared hasn't come. He stills Jared's hand, replaces it with his own. He doesn't have his breath back, yet, and Jared's still kissing him each time a shivering aftershock hits. But he drops to his knees - it's easy; his legs are weak like a kitten's - and draws his palm up the underside of Jared's thick cock, just before he takes it into his mouth, still wet from Jared's kisses. 

He barely has time to swirl his tongue around the head before Jared's coming, but Jensen doesn't pull away. He takes the taste of it, swallows it, because it grounds him in the truth. Not something they can pretend didn't happen, not after he's had his mouth on Jared's dick. 

And yeah, he's already sorry. 

When he pulls off, Jared kneels down in front of him and kisses him, and Jensen's a little less sorry, but he still thinks this might be a monumental fuck-up, no matter how bad they both wanted it. He runs his hands over Jared's shoulders, down his back, and suddenly he's cold. 

Jared presses his face to the side of Jensen's neck, and the pause is heavy, like he wants to say something. Jensen's shoulders tense, and Jared draws a hand slowly up his back. At that moment, Jensen's stomach growls like something has crawled in there and is trapped, so loud in the silence, and both of them burst out laughing. 

"You want some leftover pizza?" Jared asks, muffled into Jensen's skin. 

"Apparently so," Jensen answers. 

Jared's first off his knees, and he throws Jensen his shirt easy as you please, flashing him a grin in the process. It's weird, getting dressed and watching Jared move around, not touching anything with the hand that's sticky with Jensen's come. 

Jensen shivers, and his dick twitches a little at the idea of it. 

They grab the pizza out of the fridge - it's still in the box, because Jared abandoned the idea of storage containers when he left his mother's iron grip, apparently - and nuke it on paper plates. Side by side on the couch -- _where you were just half-naked and thinking about fucking Jared_ , his brain adds, causing him to choke on some pepperoni - they scarf down the food and watch some old movie on TV, something neither of them cares about. 

Jensen can still feel it; there's something Jared's dying to say, and he's afraid. Jensen knows how that feels; there are a few things he's choking back, too. 

He reaches over, pushes his fingers through Jared's hair, and watches Jared's eyes flutter closed. Better. He follows that up with a kiss pressed to Jared's jaw, and then he's in Jared's lap, plates knocked to one side, kissing him. Lingering there, on Jared's mouth. 

"You have to fucking stay here," Jared gasps, when Jensen lets him breathe again. "God, you are never allowed to leave."

"Okay," Jensen says, because he was thinking the same thing. Jared twists to the side and throws Jensen on the couch, then yanks him up so hard his arm nearly comes out of the socket. 

When they get to the bedroom, Jared strips him in about two seconds flat - this time without pausing to ogle him - and manhandles him into bed. Jensen looks at where his clothes fell, and thinks about whether or not he can get into them later without waking Jared, and how late he can leave before it turns into spending the night. But the moment Jensen's body touches the sheet, the urgent need to fuck bleeds away into the soft comfort of Jared's bed, and he sighs. Jared sprawls out next to him, kisses his shoulder. 

Jensen's almost asleep when Jared mumbles, "Better not be a notch." 

It takes Jensen a few seconds to put that into some kind of context where it makes sense, and when he does, he turns over and sticks his head under Jared's chin, curling closer to him. 

"Over that," he mumbles back. It might not be true, or completely true, or even half-true, but it's true right now, and that's the best he can do. He'll re-evaluate in the morning, if the freak-out comes, which he's sure it will. 

It's not morning yet, though. 

He puts an arm around Jared and moves them closer, listening to Jared's soft, sleepy breaths, and lets Jared's warmth lull him to sleep.


End file.
